


a little off the top

by CombatMattress



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Growing Old Together, Haircuts, Other, Post-Canon, Secret Samol 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:00:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22328980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CombatMattress/pseuds/CombatMattress
Summary: Twenty years after the events of the Twilight Mirage, Echo Reverie gives Grand Magnificent a haircut.
Relationships: Grand Magnificent/Echo Reverie
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12
Collections: Secret Samol 2019





	a little off the top

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DragonEyez](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonEyez/gifts).



> Happy Secret Samol!! Thank you for the wonderfully generous prompts; it's been a (very) long time since I've written anything like this, so I appreciated the flexibility. I opted to dig into older Grand/Echo a bit; I really hope you like it!

It's not quite morning on the planet Altar, and Echo Reverie is standing on the balcony of their desert manor house, putting the final touches on a landscape painting. 

They'd be the first to admit that this isn't the optimal time to be painting: the pre-dawn glow mutes the bright pastel hues of the desert valley around them, keeping Echo's palette limited to cool blues and warm grays. But Echo has come to savor the early morning quiet; and they enjoy figuring out how to tease hints of brighter colors from subtle shades.

It has been twenty years since Echo Reverie was last forced to wield a sword in battle. Time and tedium have dulled their frame and slowed their movements somewhat; but they still carry themselves with the precision and grace of a skilled duelist, and their eyes are as sharp and sparkling as ever. Painting doesn't come naturally to Echo: it requires patience and stillness that they've found hard to cultivate. But Echo appreciates the quiet demands of their brush and canvas. It anchors them in the world, keeps them from drifting into memories they'd rather leave in the past. Echo spins the palette knife idly between their fingers and stares out over the balcony railing at the landscape beyond, savoring the calm of the moment. Then they pick up the brush and set to work.

* * * * *

It's mid-morning on the planet Altar, and the excerpt formerly known as Grand Magnificent is deep in the belly of a mechanical beast, staring intensely at a dark red splotch on the steel floor. A clutch of nervous technicians orbit around him, awe and terror etched on their faces in equal measure. The most senior of their number, a square-jawed woman named Hyde, shuffles the paper on her clipboard and carefully clears her throat.

"We found it this morning, sir," she rasps, face twisted in regret. "Found half a dozen just like that one too, all etched into the metalwork." Hyde taps her feet nervously on the floor and averts her gaze slightly. "We… think Arbit might be trying to make new weather patterns, sir. Again." 

One bony hand, gnarled from years of labor, reaches up to an ear and retrieves a worn-down stylus. The excerpt dips the edge of his stylus into the pool of red liquid — and then, gingerly, brings it to his lips. 

The technicians fall silent as the grave.

⸢Peace Returned to the Valley, The Rivers Flowed Clear and Blue, The Mountains Resplendent, Grand. Magnificent Light Shone on the Diligent and the Penitent Alike⸣ …

… slowly shuts his eyes and hisses, "Jelly juice. Arbit's making snowflakes out of jelly juice." He lets out a long, drawn-out sigh and casts his gaze up towards the heavens. "This is going to be such a mess to deal with." 

* * * * *

It's early afternoon on the planet Altar, and Grand Magnificent — who will always be just Grand Magnificent to Echo, no matter what other honorifics he earns — is reclining on the sofa in their living room, commiserating at length with the empty air about the ingratitude of machinic gods. Echo is pouring two cups of black tea in the kitchen, offering the occasional sympathetic murmur to sustain Grand's ranting. They splash a dollop of milk into Grand's teacup and stir, watching the cream slice through and smother the bitter darkness.

"Tea's ready!" Echo cheerily announces, breezing into the room with the pep and vigor of someone who didn't spend the day wrestling with an recalcitrant Divine. Echo's long graying-blue hair has been woven into a simple braid which coils over their shoulder and around down towards their waist. They've taken to wearing looser clothing in their retirement: today that means a brilliant green-and-gold patterned caftan, cinched at the waist with a opalescent belt. Sliding Grand's mug of tea across the coffee table, Echo eases back into a battered brown recliner and folds their legs up under them, regarding Grand with a fondly amused look.

"... and not only is it horribly staining, it's dangerously reductive! Arbit can't have behavior patterns, that defeats the entire — hmm? Oh, thank you dear." Grand pauses his grousing to take a generous sip of tea, slightly scalding himself in the process. He winces, and pulls a rueful face at his partner.

Age has left an uneven mark on Grand Magnificent; he now bears little resemblance left of the genius artiste whose creations rocked the Mirage to its core. His broad face has been lined, creased and pounded over and over by stress and sleep deprivation. The salt-and-pepper mane of hair is increasingly more salt than pepper these days, and wildly out of order. But the rigorous years tending to a Divine chaos machine have also gifted Grand a certain majesty, a sense of purpose and meaning that his younger self sorely lacked.

His fashion sense, regrettably, has not improved in the slightest, Grand is currently relaxing in a sheer white robe that does little to hide the riotous red-and-blue leotard he's wearing underneath. Echo stopped trying to fix Grand's wardrobe a long time ago; now they're content just to needle him about it.

"I tell you, be grateful you don't have to babysit that rustbucket," Grand complains, testing the teacup again with his lips. "Arbit has one job — it knows it has one job! — and yet it keeps trying to … I dunno, develop a habit, or something." Grand wags a reproachful finger at nothing in particular, and fixes the empty air with a stern look. "That's really not a luxury we can afford, unless we want Crystal Palace breathing down our necks again." 

Despite his irritation, Grand can't help but keep the fondness out of his voice; and as ever, Echo can't help but pick up on it.

"Isn't that something your assistants can handle, though?" Echo asks, their voice purposefully light. "Have them mess with the …" Echo's hands wave futility in the air. "The probability whatsit, or whatever?"

Grand nods slowly. "They're working on it. I'm sure they'll figure out a stopgap, but, y'know." He shrugs. "No one really knows Arbit like me."

A small grin tugs at the corner of Echo's mouth. "I'm aware," they say dryly. "But they'll have to find a way to manage. Ballad's coming this weekend, remember?"

Grand starts a little; he did not remember. "Right, yeah," he mumbles, sheepishly. "I'll...I'll definitely be free for that."

"I know you will." Echo reaches over and runs a weathered hand across Grand's forehead, affectionately brushing his bangs back. Grand gives him a wan smile; he looks tired, as always, but he's better than he used to be. 

There used to be days, immediately after Grand declared himself an excerpt, where he'd spend all day in communion with the chaotic Divine, coming home half-starved, reeking of oil and metal and worse things besides. His behavior had prompted some of the worst fights of their relationship; acidic screaming matches, echoes of which still reverberated through their bond today. They'd worked it out, obviously, each learning how to make space for the other's priorities. But those difficult conversations still rear their head from time to time, especially when Grand brought his work home with him. Feeling the precipice looming, Echo casts about for a diversion: then, fingers still twined through Grand's hair, they have it.

"All right, that's enough lazing about; we've still got work to do!" Echo announces, bounding to their feet. They strut over to the door frame, beckoning Grand to follow. "Finish your tea and meet me in the bathroom; we have some urgent business to take care of."

Grand arches a curious eyebrow at that, but Echo's already gone. Shrugging, Grand finishes his tea in a single gulp and lifts himself from the sofa, loping after his beloved.

* * * * * * 

"This isn't exactly what I had in mind for this afternoon," Grand whines, slumping against the wooden stool in protest.

"Hush, and let me work," Echo murmurs, draping the large silver tarp across Grand's torso. "We both know you desperately need this."

Grand bristles. "Well, I might take exception to that. It really isn’t that bad, y'know?" He runs a hand through his dirty hair as Echo lays out their tools: comb, scissors, spray bottles, dryer. "I think it makes me look kinda rugged, y’know? Like a person of purpose; someone who’s been nobly caught up in the gears of history."

“Mmhm,” Echo grunts, testing the silvered scissor blades with a few phantom snips in the air. “Well, you can try for the tragic hero look next month. But Ballad needs to see a different Grand right now: the Grand that takes care of himself, the Grand that knows how important his health and well-being is to his friends."

Grand winces as a spritz of cold water mists across his scalp. "Oh, that Grand; I'm sick of that guy. Why can't I just be dramatically self-destructive, for old times sake?" 

He exhales and reclines back in the seat, as Echo directs a few more blasts of water towards his head. "You're sure this isn't just you being jealous, right?"

Echo pauses. "Jealous?"

"Of my luscious locks."

"Ahh, right." Echo fights off the grin stealing over their face, grabbing for the comb instead. "Well, how could I not be jealous of you, dear? You are Grand Magnificent, after all." They plant a kiss on Grand's forehead as he grumbles, slightly mollified. "But never fear; I've got no choice but to make you look gorgeous. I have my reputation as a barber to consider, after all." Echo shifts behind Grand and runs their fingers through his hair, pushing gently to incline his head forward slightly. "Now relax; this'll be done in moments."

Echo’s well-used comb was one of the last things Signet gave them before she left the system: it's made of green stone and golden inlay, with a molded grip and fine rounded teeth. Echo drags it through Grand’s damp, matted hair, carefully disentangling the clumps and knots with practiced ease. Grand closes his eyes and breathes, slowly, meditatively, as the comb gently tugs on his scalp. The setting sun breaks in through the window and pools against Grand’s leg, warming the chilly tiles beneath his bare feet. Echo smiles as they stroke the comb back and forth, sorting the strands of messy hair into neatly-arranged rows. Their hands take on an unconscious, familiar rhythm. It's peaceful. And a little dull.

Grand coughs. "So have you talked to Ballad recently?"

"Yes, he sent a message over last week." Echo pulls back on the comb and grips a row of split ends between their fingers: the scissors snip twice and a clump damp silver hair tumbles to the floor. "He's doing well; sounds like he finally got the budget to hire another assistant."

"Oh, that's great news. Can finally spend more time with the kids, and all that." Doting on Ballad's three young children has been a not-so-secret highlight of Uncle Grand's life for a while now. "And he'll be less stressed now, yeah?"

"That's the idea," Echo murmurs skeptically. Another tangle of hair falls to the floor. "Personally, I don't think things are going to change until he gets a different job. Politics just isn't a good fit for him."

"Sure, but he's good at it. People listen when he speaks; they know he cares about what they care about. The Qui Err need people like him."

Echo shifts uncomfortably. "Yeah, well. Arguably they need people like me, too."

"Mm." Grand is silent for a second. Echo steps around to the side of Grand's head and pushes softly on his temple; Grand inclines his head to the side, as the cold steel scissor blades slide against his scalp. "He's not still trying to make you go back, is he?"

"Not in so many words, no. But I can hear it in what he's not saying. That he's stressed, that he's not cut out for this, that he's making mistakes without even realizing it. It'd probably be a weight off his shoulders to have me back in my old job." A pause. "I don't begrudge him those thoughts, not really. But he knows I've already been down that road. It's not for me."

Echo's fingertips trace up the side of Grand's jaw for half a second, before reaching up to bend the tip of his ear away from the flashing scissor blades. Grand performs a silent calculation in his head, and decides to go for it. 

"You sure you won't want to return, though? I mean, you'd get a hero's welcome: there'd be parties, parades, maybe even a holiday or two for the Hero of — agh, agh, okay okay."

Echo snorts and relaxes their grip on Grand's earlobe. "Save it, Your Excerpt-ness. Myths and legends are the last thing the Qui Err need right now; they deserve real leaders and heroes, not Fleet cast-offs. Besides, I know where I'm needed."

And suddenly Echo is in front of Grand, gazing at him with a focused intensity Grand rarely gets to see in his partner. One of their hands snakes beneath Grand's chin and pushes it upwards, tilting his head back to meet Echo's eyes: the other hand runs across Grand's forehead and nudges his unruly bangs up and out. Grand shivers — then shuts his eyes as metal begins to click and falling hair begins to brush across his face.

"I don't know what makes you happy, Grand Magnificent." Grand opens his mouth to protest, but Echo's fingers lay themselves across his lips. "I've spent twenty-odd years of my life trying to figure that one out; sometimes it feels like I never will." Echo leans forward to clip a few stray strands on the far side of Grand's head; Grand can feel the warmth of their body just a few inches from his face.

"I suspect you don't know what you're looking for either; maybe none of us do. But whatever you're chasing, it's not in that bucket of bolts on top of the hill." Echo pulls back to regard their work; their face is full of a soft, sweet sadness born from years of understanding and being understood. "Not in your noble Divine duty, not in some weighty penance for past sins. You've got everything you need right here. Just have to let yourself understand that." 

Satisfied, Echo picks up a small red hand mirror and holds it to Grand's face; he doesn't meet its gaze, just yet.

"I… I know that. I do. Just, I need some reminding sometimes, is all." Grand sighs. Runs his fingers through his newly shortened hair. And lifts his head to the mirror. 

The face that stares back at Grand in the mirror is still his own weathered face; still ravaged by time and stress and self-inflicted tragedies. But it's no longer framed by an unruly white mess of hair: his sides are short and swept back, and his bangs are pushed up and around into an elegant half-wave. For the first time in a while, Grand can see the artist he used to be staring back at him in the mirror.

Echo smiles proudly as Grand turns this way and that, admiring himself in the mirror. "Thanks, Echo," he says, voice brimming with affection and love. "For everything."

Echo leans in and rests their chin on Grand's shoulder, lips just a few inches from Grand's cheek. "Well, what else was I supposed to do? It's just how we fit together: when you're in trouble, I come rescue you."

Grand sighs and nuzzles back into Echo, pressing his newly-shorn face against his lover's. "Mm, and this was you rescuing me, was it?"

"Yes; from a truly atrocious mullet." And Echo laughs and skips away as Grand sticks his tongue out at them.


End file.
